After the Guests Have Gone
by It'sMadUpstairs
Summary: This is a "fic of a fic" I wrote based on YankeeCountess' "Scandal on Eaton Square", in which Sybil is Sybil Levinson, a single wealthy suffragette who hires Tom Branson as her butler. Even though this could be read independently, I do recommend you read her story sometime. Also, this is my first ever sex scene, so constructive criticism is much appreciated.


_After the Guests Have Gone_

It was happening. Though they'd both thought of it more times than either were willing to admit to each other, yet, it was so new. Of course, for Sybil this was all entirely new. She had lived her whole life as a wealthy girl, sheltered by her parents, grandmother, her aunt and uncle. Now she was a wealthy woman, grown and mistress of her own household. But for this, she might as well be still in school.

Branson, _Tom_ , would have to take the lead. And he did.

Pushing her legs up onto the bed so that her feet rested on the mattress, he settled between them. Her silk skirt slid down her thigh, which was slowly followed by his hand. She inhaled suddenly and he stopped to look at her face, but she nodded and he continued. Their foreheads were resting against each other; their noses just touching. His hands ghosted up her arms, reaching the straps of her nightgown. Like before, he pushed one strap down, kissing her shoulder slowly, maddeningly slow, to her neck. From there his mouth traveled down to her bust.

"No one has seen me naked."

He lifted his head to look at her face but he said nothing.

"Not really...I mean..." She was blushing like a rose now. "Other than my mother and nursemaids in the bath when I was a child." She was smiling through her self-consciousness now, her eyes not meeting his.

"So what you're saying is, I have a special privilege?" Tom chuckled. He laughter was not at her. It made her laugh in return.

"I suppose so then."

Tom's lips continued their path down to her breasts, their peaks responding. He kissed her over the cloth. His went back up to her shoulders, sliding under the straps and gently gliding them down. Tom lifted his head then; if he was to be the first to see Sybil Levinson naked, he wanted to actually look at her. Not sure if he was teasing her or himself, the silk came further down, revealing cream and pinkish skin. Finally, she was bare down to her waist and he lifted himself up on his elbows to gaze down at her. She looked back up at him, waiting for something but not sure for what. Tom bent down again, his mouth trailing from her neck down between her breasts to her navel, which he teased with his tongue and nose. He heard another hiccup of breath, which this time he took to be an affirmation. He pressed his grinning face against her belly. Working his way back up, he cupped her breasts in each hand. God she was smooth as though carved from marble before the gods had breathed life into her. Gently he took a nipple in his mouth, dancing his tongue around it. He felt her shudder underneath him. He sucked on her softly and she moaned, running her fingernails up his back.

"Please-" she whispered.

"Not yet." He made his way back down her body, peeling down the last of her clothing, the silk slip, stockings and garters coming off in layers. He looked at her then, like one of the painting or sculptures at museums he hadn't had the money to go to as a child. On instinct, she brought her knees together a bit out of shyness but he ran his palm down the inside of one thigh, gently opening her to him. His hands were so warm that completely naked on a winter night in London, she felt positively flush. And then his mouth followed his hands again.

Sybil's mind sped up and yet went still. Apart from the basics of procreation, she had only ever heard the various forms of lovemaking alluded to in novels and conversations between acquaintances. As she felt Tom Branson's lips travel up her thighs, she tried to recall which chapter of the _Decameron_ this was from.

She felt his lips at the core of her, soft like one would feel a kiss on the cheek. And then she felt his tongue. The tongue that spoke in that lovely brogue danced across her, tracing every lip and curve. Her back arched off the bed and he gripped her hips. She felt him moan into her, causing her to release one of her own. Her body began to quake, her thighs shaking on either side of his head. The sound that emerged from her throat Sybil was certain could have been heard down the hall. Fortunately, her room was the only one on the floor that was occupied.

Tom only let her catch her breath partly. He soon made his way back up her body, his nose and mouth tracing their way to her lips. He kissed her forehead. Resettling himself between legs, he cradled her head in his hands, asking her permission one more time. She felt the hard part of him nestle into the center of her. And then he began to push. Just slightly, as though they were wading into a pool of water. Then again, a bit more. She pushed her own hips back just slightly. His next push was a thrust. Putting his forehead to hers again, he rolled his hips and then he was inside her. Sybil stiffened a bit and he remained still. After a few moments, she relaxed as she accustomed herself to the feeling of fullness, feeling muscles she had not known she had.

It was slow at first, as though floating on top of rolling waves. Then the waves grew higher. Sybil's whimpers, a sound Tom seemed to like as he grasped her hips, turned to gasps. He took her deeper, and deeper still. Her final moans were muffled by his own.

After they'd spent themselves, her panting was the only sound. Tom lazily kissed her neck, feeling the place that had emitted such elegant moans a few minutes earlier. Sybil's eyes were closed but she was not asleep.

"Stay the night," she said.

He smiled. "Happy to be off service."


End file.
